


More

by fhtagn



Series: More [1]
Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Caretaking, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, Dominant, Dominant Male, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forced Relationship, Injury, Kissing, Rough Kissing, Stockholm Syndrome, Submissive, Submissive Female, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 20:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15008588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhtagn/pseuds/fhtagn
Summary: A girl takes for safety in the Heelshire mansion, unaware that there might be more than she bargained for.Brahms meets a woman who accepts him for who he is, and it's more than he had expected.





	More

Heelshire mansion was an escape route.   
Being chased by a group of men that she had pissed, she took comfort in the home, shielded from the rain by the oddly pristine interiors. The electricity and water worked, despite its solitude, and the place looked like it had just been cleaned, not one speck of dust in site.  
She wandered the halls, fingers brushing across the wood of the walls. It was comfortable, the rug beneath her barefoot, floor creaking underneath her weight, bending to a near palpable level. A lamp at the end of the hall flickered, casting a glow over her body. Warmth enveloped her as she moved closer down the hallway, and the rain from the outside slowly began to warm off of her skin.  
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, she looked up at it, wondering what she would do if somebody was inside. Perhaps she could just tell them their current situation. Or she could run. Or she could jump out a window and kill herself and all her problems would reach there end. But she walked up the stairs nonetheless, subconsciously looking out for a way out.  
The walls weeped around her, a soft breathing around her. This house- it seemed alive.  
All the doors were blown open in the top hallway, leaving an eerily clean bedroom paraded off to her. She ogled it, sighing softly at the thought of sleeping in a bed for the first time in an incredibly long time. Eventually her legs betrayed her, leading her to the bedroom where she stripped of her soaked jacket and dripping jeans, standing boldly in her underwear and T-shirt. She stared down at the bed, taking a moment before she clambered in, moaning when the soft silk sheets welcomed her with an embrace.  
Her limbs spread, sinking into the bed. With no regard for checking the rest of the house for people, she let her eyes flutter shut and sleep take her in her vulnerability.  
In her dreams, small bumps and clutters spilt over, as if she was hearing them from the real world and they were bleeding over to her sleep.   
The dream was restless, filled with visions of hatred, which also felt like it had some kind of real world parallel.  
He watched her as she slept, and perhaps it was his own presence so near to her that sent so much disruption into her sleep, but he wouldn’t know anyways. Brahms was completely entranced by this woman, this fragile woman who had wandered her way helplessly into his little trap. He had no intention of her leaving.  
Her sleep was incredible though, and she awoke with a sense of fulfillment almost 24 hours later. She was completely unaware that she was his now, sleep being her final surrender to Brahms.  
As she woke, her eyes adjusted to something sitting in the chair next to her bed. When the outline of eyes stared into her own, she jumped out of her sleep, choking back a scream in an odd gurgle.   
Clutching the blanket to her chest which heaved up and down, she stared at what turned out to be a doll, holding a paper which read ‘The Rules’. Her mind couldn’t come up with an explanation, but she assumed that somebody was in the house with her.  
Her hands shook relentlessly as she reached for the paper, snatching it up from the dolls lap before anything could jump out at her. Her eyes raked the paper up and down, reading the ‘rules’. They all seemed to be geared towards care of the doll, which was not the first odd thing out. She had no clue what this was; possibly a sick game, or a mental trick of the light, but she assumed that these were the rules for her stay, and she was going to adhere to them, not giving up the chance for something so comforting so easily.  
She stood, reading which one she had to do first.  
Dress him each morning.  
Easy enough. She grabbed the doll to dress him, but he already was.   
Somebody was helping her.  
Help with studies.  
She decided that was next, carrying the doll gently with an eye kept on the halls for anybody. She sat him down in the living room, grabbing a random book of the wall labeled ‘Mathematics’. When the book actually was staring back at her, she realized that she had no idea how to teach it, so she read it word for word, wondering what the point in it was.  
It wasn’t long before she got bored, getting up and wandering around the house to find what looked like a piano.  
She sat down on the bench, bringing back an old piece that she studied as a child. It had an odd ring- a harpsichord.  
The piece sounded odd and lacked the emotion of the original piece, but the harmonies still sounded haunting, with an out of tune ring. She only played a piece of it, also boring of that quickly without the emotional weight of the piece being carried.  
She got back up, moving back to the room, only to find the doll back on the table with a note on his lap; Never leave him alone.  
A shudder moved through her body, and suddenly she tapped out of this, grabbing the doll and running up the stairs in a panicked hurry, slamming the door behind her and gently resting the doll into the chair. She dropped into the bed, sighing the restlessness out of her.  
She shook her hair out, dropping her head in her hands.  
“I’m going crazy.” It was the first word she had heard out of herself for a long time. “I’m losing it, oh god, I’m losing it.”  
And then a scraping came from the wall next to her, and she let out an outright shriek, leaping out of her skin and landing in a mess on the other side of the bed.  
She burst into tears out of fear, sobbing into her palms. “Hello?”  
Brahms enjoyed this, he enjoyed her fear.   
A child’s voice rung out from the wall. “Why are you afraid?”  
She screamed again, crying even harder, eyes turning red and puffing up. “Please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry!”  
Brahms tried not to giggle. This was the most fun he had in a long time, and it pushed him to continue, raking his fingernails down the wall to make a high screech from the walls, which prompted her to burst into another fit of wails. She was so jumpy, terrified, and easy enough for Brahms to mold.  
But suddenly a moment of bravado hit her and she got up, bolting out of the room to make a run for the door of the mansion. She swiftly turned to the corner, running down the first part of the stairs, and then turned again, this time tripping on the rug and tumbling down the stairs in a jumble of screams. She landed abruptly on her ass, pain shooting up through her ankle.   
A moment of dread swallowed her, and slowly moved her gaze down to her ankle, seeing it lined at an angle that it should not have been angled at in any situation.  
She howled in pain, crying helplessly on the floor, hoping somebody outside might hear her. It was perfect for Brahms, she couldn’t even hear him sprinting through the walls, bursting out through a trapdoor into the first floor hallway.   
And there she was.  
Crumpled on the ground, cradling her ankle, crying for help. This was a moment he had dreamed for all his life, this was something he could truly take advantage of this. He stalked down the hallway, quiet for an extra moment of shock. She didn’t notice him, she barely had a clue. He stopped when he was right behind him, able to smell the dirt in her unwashed hair. She was messy. He would fix that for her.  
He knelt down behind her, breathing down her neck. She stopped.  
He placed his veiny hands on her shoulders, and let them trail down, resting his chin in the crook of her neck. Her breath was shaky and he could tell she was trying not to cry. His hands met hers, fingers intertwining with hers. Surprisingly, she accepted it, still shaking violently. He whispered his reassurances into her ear; “I’m here.”  
His arms wrapped around her, cradling her into a bear hug. He pulled her back, and she leaned back against his chest. He was confused, expecting her to fight or scream or call him names or at least try and look at him, but instead she was following his own commands.  
“Look at me.” He ordered.  
She turned her head up at him, eyes sparkling with tears, gasping slightly when she saw the porcelain mask that he donned.   
“You… I…” She was lost for words.  
“Brahms.”  
Her voice barely registered, just a slight murmur over the hum of the lights. “Brahms..”  
She was right. She had lost it. All the years of roaming the streets alone without a place to sleep, and suddenly this man who had tried to torment became the man who had given her a home, and she welcomed him with loving arms.  
On the other hand, Brahms felt himself melting to her warmth when she said his name. He knew this was no place for them, so he grabbed her by the sides, a little roughly, and pulled her up off her feet, her only sound being a small whine when her ankle moved to a straight line. Instinctively, her arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist, him holding her up by her thighs. He felt like he was carrying a child, but she was more than a child.  
She rested carefully on him, tired from the emotional spike that she had just gone through, and somehow, she knew she was safe with him from the intimacy of the way that he had held her just a moment ago.   
He enjoyed carrying her weight, it was easy and comforting, like a weighted blanket.   
Together, they made their way up the stairs, him resting the small part of his face that showed against her hair, and him resting her head against his chest. A small bounce in the walk made her hold him tighter. He felt loved.  
They entered her bedroom instead of his, and with the most care possible, he rested her down onto the bed, her arms reluctantly letting go off his neck. He pulled back the blankets, flipping the roles, and gently pushed her under, climbing in after her.  
She looked up at him, bright eyes hid behind a layer of hair, and he pushed it out of her face, her head turning to his hand, kissing the palm. They already had a string of trust between them, and it already seemed unbreakable.  
“A kiss goodnight.” Her voice was so soft and sweet it was barely audible.  
His resolve crumbled. He threaded a hand behind her ear, tangling it with the hair at the nape of her neck, and pulled her forward, pressing his own porcelain against her rosy lips. He knew it was awkward and uncomfortable, but she kissed him back, placing a hand on his chest. She turned her head a little bit, and slung a leg up over his hip when he desperately pulled her closer. She said something behind her lips, but he couldn’t make it out.  
And then he stopped, and did something he couldn’t believe. He pulled his mask back, pulling it off and placing it behind them. His heart pounded in his chest, hammering intensely, loud enough for him to hear through the inside of his ears. She stared at him, blinking slowly, and her fingers came up to the side of his face, brushing along the outline of his burn scars. He was terrified now, thinking he had just found something he could never find anywhere else, and he didn’t want to lose it on vanity. But she leaned back in, and pressed her lips to his, finger pads Kindly massaging his scars. He nearly cried, kissing her back passionately.   
They tangled together, moving with each other in a unison rhythm, friction building up between them. He tightened his grip on the back of her neck, but not enough for it to be a threat, and her other hand gripped the sleeve of his shirt, moaning a little bit into the kiss until she broke it, keeping their noses pressed together.  
“Brahms.” She whispered again.  
“Yes?” He whispered back to her, wrapping an arm around her.  
“Thank you.”  
And not only was she his, he was hers.


End file.
